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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26472082">Start Your Engines</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOneWriter15/pseuds/ThatOneWriter15'>ThatOneWriter15</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blow Jobs, F/M, Fluff, Oral Sex, POV Second Person, Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:14:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,506</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26472082</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOneWriter15/pseuds/ThatOneWriter15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Watching Dean drive Baby gets <i>you</i> revved up.</p><p>(NOTE: "Graphic Depictions of Violence" warning applies only to details of a case and is very brief.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean Winchester/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Start Your Engines</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Miles of corn stalks stretching to the heavens may become tedious to some, but <em> you </em> don’t find them monotonous. Even after years of living in the Midwest, where any travel involves passing fields of the crop.</p><p>Perhaps it’s the company you keep that ensures long trips with repetitive scenery are never boring. Dean Winchester tearing down a relentless stretch of asphalt in his Baby is a thrill that doesn’t get old. It’s an especially delightful experience when it’s just the two of you, when you’re riding shotgun.</p><p>Like you are now.</p><p>“We’re getting close,” Dean notifies you as the Stones song on the radio ends.</p><p>You pull your phone from your pocket. “I’ll call him.” </p><p>“Hello?” Castiel answers.</p><p>“Cass. Hey, you’re on <em> Speaker</em>,” you announce. </p><p>“Any luck?” the angel ventures.</p><p>“Zilch,” Dean reports. “Turns out, it wasn’t a vamp. Just a seriously pissed-off lady who tied up her boyfriend, slit his throat, and collected his blood in <em> buckets </em>to use as ‘paint’ for his lover’s front door.”</p><p>Cass sighs. “That’s… abhorrent.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Dean scoffs. “Don’t ever cheat on <em> her</em>...”</p><p>“Disturbed felons aside,” you interject, “we’ll be back soon. How are things at the homebase?”</p><p>“Slow. Nothing of interest has come across any of the scanners.” The creaking of Castiel’s chair reveals he’s at the map table. “Sam took Jack to your ‘Cave,’ Dean. Your brother’s teaching him how to play foosball.” </p><p>Dean guffaws. “If Jack wanted to learn, he should’ve waited until The Ultimate Champion got home.”</p><p>“Yeah,” you agree. “I’m only an hour away.” Castiel’s soft chuckle sounds over the line. Dean’s jaw drops in mock offense, and you nudge his ribs with your elbow. “We’ll see you in a bit, Cass.”</p><p>You disconnect the call and lean back, content. While your trip up to Nebraska proved futile in ending your team’s hunting dry spell, the journey wasn’t a bust. </p><p>“You know what?” you muse as the setting sun casts a Creamsicle glow over everything in sight and the wind from the cracked window whips through your hair. “Minus the gore, I had fun today.”</p><p>Dean reaches for your hand and smooches it before briefly turning his head toward you. “It’s always an adventure with you, sweetheart.”</p><p>Goddamn, after a couple of years together, that man could <em> still </em>make you blush. A fact he was well aware of and loved. The pride he took from said knowledge only caused your heart to grow fonder. And around and around you two went--a tangled ball of adoration from which you never wanted to be freed.</p><p>Your eyes are drawn to Dean’s movement as he flicks on Baby’s headlights. You watch him settle in, his hands caressing the opposite sides of the steering wheel and meeting at the top. Within seconds, his right slips down to the “five o’clock” position. He taps his thumb against the leather while the first joint of his index finger helps steady the wheel.</p><p>You shift slightly in your seat. Those deft, gentle fingers of his--they always <em> get </em>you. Seeing them in action brings forth memories of how they’ve explored and celebrated your body, the way you’ve come undone beneath their attentions more times than you could count.</p><p>Heart rate increasing, your gaze falls to Dean’s legs. His <em> wide-open </em> legs that suddenly feel like a beacon. His muscular thighs strain against the thick denim of his jeans, and you’re considering another definition of “ride” as the Impala carries on down the road.</p><p>Continuing your path of appreciation, you offer thanks to the sides of his red-and-black flannel, for their generous separation exposes more of his classic black t-shirt. The cotton clings to the plane of his stomach. You wet your lips, your tongue eager to trace and taste the lines of his torso.</p><p>You check Dean’s face, curious as to whether or not he’s noticed your admiration. His jaw tightens as his eyes survey the car’s surroundings through the windshield. It’s getting darker by the minute, and he’s focused. His look of concentration--you could stare at it all night.</p><p>It’s suddenly clear your heartbeat has… <em> lowered</em>. You’re well on the way to becoming a mess, and he’s completely <em> fine</em>.</p><p>It’s not fair.</p><p>“Pull over,” you enunciate.</p><p>Immediately, Dean leans on the brake. Baby rolls to a stop in the dirt of an empty field, a few feet from the pavement. He cuts the engine and slides across the seat, worried. </p><p>“Are you okay?” His hand lifts to determine your temperature. You have no doubt your cheeks are visibly rosy, even in the low light.</p><p>“Do you have any idea what watching you drive does to me?” you <em> purr</em>.</p><p>Dean gulps. “Really?” The smallest suggestion of a disbelieving smirk plays on his full lips.</p><p>You allow an equally-small whimper to escape your throat as you nod. “And I wanna repay the favor.” You squeeze his upper thigh.</p><p>His understanding settles in. “Wh-- You-- <em> Here? </em>” His eyes dart around anxiously. </p><p>The two of you may be out in the open, but it’s the middle of nowhere. “Yeah, if you’re up for it.”</p><p>The nervousness in his gaze morphs into desire. “Y-yeah.”</p><p>Your mouth promptly claims his. The needle measuring your arousal already strains in the red, so you waste no time deepening the kiss. Your nails dig into the meat of his shoulders, and Dean’s fingertips slink through your hair with that delicate grace of his that consistently floors you, especially in heated moments.</p><p>Torturing yourself, you retreat a bit. This round’s not about you; you committed to other plans. Dean pants, patiently waiting for your next move.</p><p>At a leisurely pace, you reach for his belt buckle. Your index finger hooks around the back of the metal clasp, your knuckle grazing the waistband of his jeans. When you tug, he gasps. You raise your eyebrows to confirm he’s unequivocally game. He nods, and you get to work.</p><p>Using only one hand, you swiftly undo his belt, pop his button, and unzip his fly. “Against the door,” you urge softly.</p><p>Without a word, Dean glides along the leather interior until his legs are outstretched and the door’s armrest prods the base of his spine.</p><p>You push his thighs in opposite directions. His right calf nestles into the crease of the seat, and his left boot cements itself to the floor. In the space you created, you crawl over to him on all fours. With a quick peck to his cheek and a smirk courtesy of his stunned expression, you sink down to gain access to his lower body.</p><p>You shove his t-shirt up until his navel is exposed. Your warm, wet, open mouth plants several kisses on his stomach, and his erection twitches near your forearm.</p><p>“Sweetheart, <em> please</em>…” Dean rasps. </p><p>You decide to show him mercy. This time. “Lift your hips.”</p><p>He allows his rear to hover above the seat long enough for you to yank his pants and boxers to his knees. You immediately take hold of him, the motion of your wrist upgrading him from “hard” to “rock-solid.” </p><p>“<em>Now </em> you’re ready,” you inform him. He exhales shakily.</p><p>The heat of your breath fans along his length. Not wanting to miss his reaction for the world, you peer up at him through your eyelashes. He’s entranced by you. You narrow your tongue and drag it from hilt to tip. His hands fly outward--one clutching the top of the seat, the other white-knuckling the bottom of the steering wheel.</p><p>You’re still not wholly satisfied, so you switch things up. You begin lapping at his slit. A hardy moan accompanies the <em> thunk </em> of his head as it hits the window. </p><p><em> That’s </em> more like it. </p><p>Dean is breathing heavily and fully flushed by the time you’re ready to move on. You glide the end of your tongue over his most sensitive spot, and he shudders at the first hint of contact.</p><p>For your next trick, you wrap your lips around his crown and alternate between sucking and licking.</p><p>“Fu-uck,” he whimpers, his palm rising to pound the roof.</p><p>You add your hand to the equation--slipping, sliding, slightly squeezing. He traps his bottom lip between his teeth as he fights to hold it together.</p><p>Then comes the grand finale. You twist your hands in a corkscrew motion around his shaft while your mouth continues its onslaught to his head. Dean loses control of his hips. They pump at an easy rhythm, and you compensate by bringing him a little closer to your throat.</p><p>He lightly nudges your shoulder, signaling now would be the time to move away. Ever the gentleman.</p><p>You stay put.</p><p>“I’m g--” he chokes. “I’m gonna…”</p><p>You moan around him, encouraging him. </p><p>That does it. With a deep groan, he finds his release. </p><p>Dean goes limp, trying to catch his breath. You’re smug as hell as you sit up. Your eyes capture his while you wipe your chin with the cuff of your sleeve.</p><p>“Jesus Christ,” he expels, leaning forward to kiss you sweetly. “We should pull over more often.”</p>
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